


such a sky and such a sun

by wednesdays



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drugs, M/M, Seasons, Spring, Summer, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesdays/pseuds/wednesdays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>if liam is spring, then zayn is summer.</p><p> </p><p>alternatively: seasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	such a sky and such a sun

**Author's Note:**

> this is what i like to call "what happens when i have writer's block and spring is starting to transition into summer and that means i write poetry."
> 
> or, this has too many semicolons and not enough commas.
> 
> or, what the fuck.
> 
>  
> 
> disclaimer: this is a work of fiction, blah blah blah, i don't affiliate with 1d, blahdy blah.

liam is spring.

he is blooming flowers, bright and red orange yellow beautiful; sweet rain drizzling over dry lands, gently bringing it back to life; sunshine finally bringing warmth past heavy clouds.

he is blooming love bites, bright against the canvas of creamy skin, beautiful; rough hands pressing to zayn's skin, coaxing him to life, as the lands; hesitant, gentle grins filled with promise and sunshine and it burns zayn's skin.

liam is spring in the way that as daylight finally overrides moonlight, he does too. beaming grins and raincoats and cold cups of tea sitting too long on a cool counter; stubble one day too prickly, scratching zayn's cheek as liam dives in for a sneaky kiss; slow exhales of breath against zayn's neck, burning as bright as the new sun that is both just for zayn and the world.

zayn's greedy, a little, as he dares to cup the sunshine in his hands, golden and delicate and liam's still smiling as brightly, only glowing brighter as the temperature rises with the season. zayn keeps it in his closed fists, unwilling to share but liam doesn't pressure him, kissing his fingers and smiling in the secretive way that only zayn can decipher.

liam is all brown eyes and milky skin and spring embodied, all love and hope and new life. he is a sharp intake of breath from a man too afraid to love, a surprised, pleased grin from a mother who's laugh lines have all but disappeared, a loving touch by an innocent child that only knows how to care.

liam is spring, and no matter how hard zayn tries, he can't keep liam to himself forever. liam's light scalds his fingers, so he lets it go. sunbeams crack harsh frowns all around, fills up every room he enters, runs through people's veins and warms them up and helps them breathe, though it presses on zayn's lungs too tightly.

sometimes he can't breathe when it's raining and all that's left of liam is the steadily cooling space in the middle of a too warm bed and zayn's tangled in the sheets all alone and his fingers trace the space liam's supposed to fill. 

sometimes he can't breathe when his legs are trembling from exertion and his chest seems to small to house his heart and lungs and his skin is covered in sweat and liam's sleeping peacefully and he's run one too many miles in the cover of the night.

his lungs struggle to intake air because sometimes it's too much, but it's never too much too long because then liam is there, all gentle smiles and gentle kisses and gentle touches, and zayn can breathe the air of spring again.

*

zayn is summer.

he is wavering summer heat, swimming across the heated pavement of a busy road; he is lush green grass, surrounded by trees that provide a gorgeous green screen of shade; he is sweltering summer sun, scorching skin to various shades of cinnamon and scarlet.

he is salty sweat, beading at his tanned temples and crawling temptingly down his sharp jaw, sometimes on the tip of liam's tongue; he is a quick nap on the itchy ground, thick lashes fluttering with dreams of peace and passion; he is secretive hazel eyes matched with an equally secretive, crooked smile, and liam wants to learn all of the secrets etched into zayn's skin.

zayn is summer in that it brings out the liveliness in people; spills all of their secrets onto the ground, their hearts and their love and their hatred with reckless abandon; he's the smoke that fills lungs on a hazy day in the middle of an alley off central drive, intoxicating like zayn's very own eyes.

liam's completely, utterly drawn in, unable to stay away from the dark eyes that hold so much life yet so much truth; from the delicate hands pricked by ink that will never melt away, no matter how scorching zayn himself is; from the raspy, thick voice whispering everything and nothing into his ear when they're lying on a bed too tired to move and the air conditioning is broken again.

liam follows like a lovesick puppy, eager to please and willing to do anything if it meant he could keep summer personified within his weakened grasp. zayn just smiles (like a secret meant to be kept) and grasps his hands a little tighter, links their fingers and lets liam in until he's resting in the hollow between his heart and ribcage, nestled in and comfortable and never wanting to leave.

zayn is the life of the party, the pretty little vixen with honey eyes and the sensual touch, all sex and peace and mellow and don'tworrybehappy and it'sallgoingtobefinetrustme; the blood pumping with drugs and energy and pure adrenaline; the dirty dancing and the deceptively soft touching; the coming back at three in the morning with uneven pupils and desperate hands.

zayn is summer, and liam knows such heat and fascination cannot be tamed for too long, for it will fizzle and die and so liam lets zayn slip out of sight, filling in dark crevices of underground euphoria, leaving goosebumps and cigarette smoke and fragmented memories in his wake and liam drowns in the desperation of his loneliness.

sometimes liam gets lonely, when it's five in the morning and he's hunched over alone on their battered couch with long forgotton tea on the coffee table and his wristwatch is looked at one too many times and the bags under his eyes match the color of the coming sunrise.

sometimes liam gets lonely, when zayn's asleep in their heated bed, coming down from his high with a dim smile on his face and liam just sits and watches his sharp face flicker in the shadow of the setting sun and he doesn't respond when liam traces his eyebrows and lips and cheeks with the tip of a trembling finger because maybe zayn will break this time if liam touches him this time and he's not going to take the risk.

but then zayn is home and awake and glowing, running his hands down liam's back and cupping his cheeks in his inkfilled hands and liam feels all warm and filled up and every demon he has is cast away into the forgotten night and he's going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from an e.e. cummings poem which i forget the title of.


End file.
